


Double-edged blade

by Clevertyrant



Category: DAYS (Anime & Manga)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, One Shot, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 17:06:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12822105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clevertyrant/pseuds/Clevertyrant
Summary: This won't last.He doesn’t regret anything, though.Not these moments.Not this moment.The moment in which the blade of an old straight razor touches his skin, grazing barely the flesh. The moment when Usui’s breath seems so near and hot, against his neck, that Nakazawa can’t hold back the pleasured murmur that escapes his lips.





	Double-edged blade

It's nighttime. Outside, the lights aren't but a flicker or stars falling upon manicured soccer fields.

There's a large building at the end of the compound, a large building whereof corridors are silent and dark. However, if one listens carefully, can hear hushed whispers coming from one of the farthest rooms and catch the barest sliver of illumination from beneath the door.

"I'm not sure this is a good idea." Whiskers keeps his voice low, albeit animosity and anxiety betray it; like his gaze, that flickers on the mirror in front of him, framing his own image and the one standing behind it.

"You say?" Usui wears a composed smile on his face while he drapes a towel around the coach's neck, _he's smiling,_ and _that smile_ is as light and hushed and calm as sounds his voice when he responds. _As it ever sounds_ , Nakazawa points out inwardly; recognizing the sarcastic hue the other didn't even bother to hide.

Usui is watching and not watching him, heavy-lidded, as though his eyes were closed. He can't read it. Not always, but certainly has piqued his pupil's habits in a way a mentor should never regard his student.

A mentor that knows the ins and outs of his team by heart, every quirk and pattern of these children, what they want to show, _not what he asks of them_. Usui is one of his players too, one of the best, one of the smartest and brightest.

He’s also _the one._ _The one and nothing else_. Nakazawa can't fill that sentence with other adjectives because he himself is not sure what it entails or... he's not sure of wanting to fully acknowledge, _yet_ , what it entails.

A sigh inevitably escapes his lips as his head sags slightly and two fingers pinch the bridge of his nose.

“I shouldn’t have had it.” Because that suggestion was his. They aren’t doing anything bad, except that the whole concept of _‘I casually invited a teenager in my room because I can’t shave a moustache and oh, incidentally, he’s also the same teenager with whom I’ve been hooking up for months **like a teenager _’_  **_sounds shadier than it did in his head a few hours before.

He still wonders, sometimes, how he can manage to outline impeccable formations and just doodle his everyday life in the messiest, possible way.

“ _You shouldn’t have_.” The way Usui parrots him is slightly unnerving, while a perfectly sculpted white hand flats the creases on the towel with professional nonchalance and the other cups Nakazawa’s chin, angling it toward him. He doesn’t seem bothered in the least, his mien is unflappable and undecipherable. That boy is twelve years younger than him but oftentimes he’s way wiser, more collected and mature than the coach will ever be.

Junko was a strong woman.

Junko was the same, brilliant and beyond his reach both physically and intellectually. _She chose him too_. But ah, how much he’d begged for her and how long he’d pulled at her skirt to make her fall. With her, the path toward feelings had never been so blurred or tortuous.

_But Usui isn’t Junko._

He isn’t a woman, he isn’t a peer, his smile isn’t sweet and he doesn’t smell of perfume. Yet, the weight and height of his presence in Nakazawa’s heart are the same.

_Were the same._

_Now_ that Usui has occupied his thoughts whole, soft and smooth curves have been replaced by flat, hard planes; red and fleshy lips became thin and pallid, sad and ever smiling and oh, _so taunting…_

“What is it?” Usui tilts his head at the prolonged staring of Nakazawa, and this time his lids quiver open, there’s warm interest in his eyes, in their reflection, that feels still out of reach, too far away. Always lost somewhere Nakazawa isn’t allowed yet.

_He knows what that boy is made of but how is he inside?_

“Nothing.” Nakazawa smiles and his muscles relax into the swivel chair. He’ll never know how he is made. He’ll have no time to discover that. Because their time, it’s just the time they decided not to let go waste _until it lasts_. It won’t be long before Usui’s priorities change, before he decides to leave behind his younger shell and, Nakazawa knows, him with it. He’s okay with that. He doesn’t expect anything else. Usui knows that too.

Usui’s finger brushes against Nakazawa’s coarse skin, the soft stroke fills the silence and Nakazawa closes his eyes. The sound of something shaking, the fizz it produces after and the cold texture of shaving foam are all stupid, custom details his nostalgic self will engrave in his mind because alas, Nakazawa knows himself too well.

He’s halfway between optimistic and pessimistic, so a part of him inevitably clutches at trivialities to fabric memories out of them, while the other just suggests to relax, live the moment and don’t think.

He wasn’t _so lame_ before. He became lame when time added ages upon his shoulders and when everything he believed didn’t exist anymore. The prospect of making it into professional soccer gave way to other priorities, like marrying the woman of his dreams, building a family, grow old together... every time he felt like he was creating something new, one step closer to a perfect reality, everything always collapsed.

This is why, this won't last.

He doesn’t regret anything, though.

Not these moments.

Not _this_ moment.

The moment in which the blade of an old straight razor touches his skin, grazing barely the flesh. The moment when Usui’s breath seems so near and hot, against his neck, that Nakazawa can’t hold back the pleasured murmur that escapes his lips.

“You seem _too_ excited tonight.” Usui whispers, his voice sounds flat and unbreakable even when it shakes and makes Nakazawa shiver in turn; the coach can still feel sarcasm and lips stirred into a smile against the shell of his ear.

“You seem _too_ proper for this situation.” The coach countermands.

“That’s the difference between you and me. _I seem_.” A snap of the wrist turns the sharp of the blade against Nakazawa’s throat. “You’d rather have me call your name?”

Bold and reticent, cold and hot, gentle and cruel; commanding and submissive, that duality, _Usui’s duality_ , is probably what makes him so endearing to many, _too many._ Nakazawa feels his face flush.

 _I’d rather have you and just that._ He’d say that aloud, if in his mind that sentence didn’t echo back so unrealistic and childish. Swearing love is like marrying someone. A promise of eternity and bullshit nobody ever fulfills. Especially him.

Usui doesn’t need an old romantic fag. He needs…

He doesn’t know.

That’s why…

“No.” The coach’s voice trembles and his eyes open slightly, “you wouldn’t, anyway.”

Their gazes meet again and Nakazawa can now fully admire that look in its true form and beauty, when it’s clouded by desire and stained with challenge, that dares him just to overstep the boundaries; that still smiles, like his mouth, as tender as a white lie. Usui chuckles.

“Who’re you talking about? _Me or you_?” Ah, why he reads him so easily and leaves no openings for Nakazawa to do the same?

Who knows?

Maybe…

“Both.”

The coach’s reply seems to satisfy the defender. His gaze veers away, but again, _is it true_?

Slowly, the blade moves up, trimming with surgical precision some of the excessive stubble. Nakazawa inhales sharply, his muscles tense and his brows quiver when Usui’s mouth skims behind his ear. The razor changes direction, following the jawline and grazing the cheek, it slowly designs a curve then pulls off, resuming the path in the proximity of the upper lip.

“I have a curfew.” Another whisper, and it’s maddening, provocative, languid and low.

“Yes…” Nakazawa’s voice is a deep, gut-like exhale. “I know.”

“Ten minutes.” And when he says that, Usui moves his free hand on Nakazawa’s shoulder, it slithers down the arm in the same way the tip of his tongue now draws the outline of the ear.

_They’re never enough, and you know that._

Nakazawa leans back, his head upends toward Usui’s chest, whose hands both stay firm on the blade and the skin, while one trims, the other slips into Nakazawa’s pants.

“Let me-” But Usui unrelenting grip around the coach’s cock suggests that no, tonight he won’t let him.

Despite the heartbeat Nakazawa feels fast against his back.

Despite Usui’s breath has started catching in his throat, he won’t let him.

“Don’t move now, or tomorrow you’ll get teased for your sloppy job.”

Usui’s hold fastens and his thumb presses just under the glans a bit harder, tugging at the tender skin in a way that makes Nakazawa’s erection throb.

 _Tight, hot, nice._ Nakazawa clenches his teeth and his hand moves atop that of Usui, encircling it in a gut reaction.

“ _I said don’t move._ ” It’s a command, that however mutes against Nakazawa’s temple in what feels like a feathery kiss. _The contradiction._

Usui doesn’t remove the coach’s hand, which fingers slowly interweave with his. He knows Nakazawa won’t move. He knows that he’s the only one allowed to do it. For that reason, Usui’s hand slides downward, a stroke that’s frustrating but oh, also so intoxicating that the coach can’t help but murmur his name.

And that word, _Usui,_ breathed like a plea, like want and blind submission is particularly… pleasing.

A moment later the blade is gone and clatters on the floor, in its place, there’s Usui’s hand grabbing and forcing Nakazawa’s chin upward, where their lips meet, clashing blindly. Soon, too soon the coach is panting into the other mouth. Tongues lap and encircle one around another, wet, famished. They don’t close their eyes, they stare at each other, at the marvel, arousal and all that ‘ _we can’t. We shouldn't. But this now and this us feel so right that I don’t want to give a damn._ ’

Usui’s rhythm increases, his fingers along those of Nakazawa, now fast, squeeze and pull at the length of his cock slick with pre-cum, faster and faster like Nakazawa’s breath that flares through his nostrils in hot, frenzied huffs.

_Usui._

Nakazawa shuts his eyes when a familiar pressure sets at the height of his crotch, tightening his balls and tensing muscles that contract in his stomach and jaw.

He can't hold back the necessity any longer. His free hand unbuckles and pushes down the slacks Usui neglected, in order to free his throbbing erection.

But at his fault, Usui responds with a penalty.

His hand slows down just when the orgasm is about to crest, stopping at the base of his cock and clenching it hard.

Nakazawa’s hand stills just above the balls he was going to grasp and his whole body trembles at the pain of stretched flesh he’s not allowed to soothe.

“Usui… I’m too old for…” his whisper dies into the other’s mouth, against Usui’s tongue that feels too good when curls around Nakazawa’s to shut him up.

 _For kids’ play._ He was going to say. Still, he’s the one getting aroused _like a teenager_ under a teenager’s touch… whose confident, adept hands feel way _too confident_ and _adept_ for one of his age. Of course Usui had other lovers. Of course someone else touched him, taught him.

Someone that wasn’t Nakazawa.

Usui smiles against his lips and it feels like mockery.

“L...e...t m...e.” Nakazawa hums, his chest rising and falling still too quickly and his senses too numb for the words to form in something that’s not a vague, strangled and throaty groan.

“Time is up.” Usui’s voice is velvety and thorny and raspy. He says that but his hand works way too slow on Nakazawa’s cock, purposely indulging on long sweeps, up and down, gathering the sensitive skin in his fist, occasionally thumbing at the crown and the big, bulging vein on the underside and each stress conveys a slight buzz of pleasure down Nakazawa’s full, ready scrotum.

Faster. His body demands. _Faster_ , _harder_.

He wants to touch him, touch Usui in the same way. Paw at and grind against and feel his body.

Their mouths part, gasping for air and trembling; wet and swollen still grazing but not meeting.

A mess of white, fading foam lingers just on the corner of Usui’s lips. Nakazawa licks it.

“Enough, Usui.” His hand comes up, sinking into silver strands and something tiny, closer, more intimate breaks the salacious mask on Usui’s face. His thin brows draw at the center of his forehead and his mouth lets out the deepest, longing moan Nakazawa has ever heard before. _So longing_ that at the successive stroke Usui gives, Nakazawa breaks definitely. He comes, spilling onto their hands still latched together, drawing in fast air that tremulous, cuts in his throat, his body shudders and the stomach contracts along each aftershock.

He kisses Usui. Usui lets him kiss him until their fingers disentangle and he draws back.

“Goodnight.”  It’s all the defender says before turning and leaving the room.

Nakazawa falls against the headrest, carding a hand through messy, sticky hair.

“ _What are we doing… Usui?_ ”


End file.
